by Jasmine Walt
Water bubbled in the grotto, the sound echoing off the twisting stone walls like a monstrous heart murmur. Avery carefully walked along the ledge, then over a sloppily-made cement bridge which looked like it had been put together with slabs of melting glue. Graffiti marked the walls. Gevris sucks cock. Marya loves Jason. The occasional pile of trash heaped on the walkways. Torches set in brackets illuminated the dark, watery halls with red, uncertain light, so that Avery and Hildra walked through pools of shadow into warm firelight, then back into shadow again.
Dark figures moved through the tunnels with them, and Avery was glad for Hildra’s pistol. She kept her one remaining hand on it at all times, hidden in a coat pocket, and she jutted it menacingly toward any shape that approached them. Once the approaching shape had not backed off but had come forward. She’d lifted her left arm, the one that ended in a silver hook, and with her right cocked her gun so that it clicked audibly. “Which’ll it be,” she said, “the hook or the gun?” The shape dissolved back into the darkness.
“Are you sure this is the best way to get there?” Avery asked her.
She shrugged. Her monkey Hildebrand hooted on her shoulder. “It’s the way I like,” she said. “Maybe because I’m from Marog.”
“Ah.” Marog was an underground city at the foot of the Borghese in Cumnal. “Your Ghenisan is perfect. I would never have known you were Cumnalan.”
“I can speak half a dozen languages. ‘Course, I wouldn’t really call Marog Cumnalese. It’s kinda its own little world. We do a lot of business with the Suulm.”
“The salamander people? Really?”
“They’ve got their own city in some godsforsaken black lake not far from Marog. They just come down the river. Queer lot, they are. Dripping wet, black, and they smell like minerals and fungus.”
“Charming.”
“They’re stand-offish, though. Don’t let humans into their city. Not that I’d want to see it for more’n a minute, anyway.” She cast him a strange look. “You know, people say ...”
“Yes?”
“People say they don’t even come from this world. You think that’s possible, that they come from ... somewhere else?”
“I suppose. There are innumerable planets in the universe, after all. Why couldn’t there be life out there?” He shrugged. “Why did you leave?”
“I have the sun in me. Couldn’t keep down in the undercity. ‘Course, now that I’m gone, I miss it.”
“Hence our route.”
She nodded. Tonight she wore more elegant evening wear suited to Vruth Eve, though she still insisted on her infernal top hat. At least it was white tonight, in keeping with the rest of her outfit. Hildebrand hopped up and down on the towel she’d flung over her shoulder. From time to time he would clamber down her hook arm and venture off into the grotto ahead of them. Once he came back playing with an albino fish that still flopped in his grasp. Hildra made him put it down and wipe his hands on the towel before she allowed him on her shoulder again.
At last she led the way up out of the grotto. First Avery heard the noise of human activity ahead, and then they came upon the underground entrance to one of the more exciting cantinas in Hissig. Hildra set Hildebrand down and told him to wait for her there. “They don’t let monkeys into Claver’s,” she said, patting him on the head. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” The little creature looked forlorn.
Avery and Hildra passed a pair of bouncers and entered the establishment. Rough limestone archways spread over them. Turquoise and colored stone embedded the archways themselves, glinting in the shaded electric lights that blazed from thick columns and expensive lanterns. Colorful bead curtains spanned some of the arches, creating privacy. In one smoky room Avery saw a woman singing on stage, and he stopped and stared. The woman glowed. She must have injected herself with an alchemical compound, and she shone like a firefly. Her ghostly light filled the room as her voice filled it with song. She seemed to pulse, growing brighter as she reached a high note, then fading mercifully. Avery was transfixed.
Hildra dragged him away, and he had to shake his head to clear the image. Claver’s was a large, multi-level joint, and he was impressed that each level seemed cozy and natural.
Most of the cantina’s patrons sat tensely at tables, talking heatedly in hushed tones. They wore formal costumes but did not seem festive. Claver’s boasted a backroom casino, and this attracted the desperate looking to buy passage on an outbound ship. Everywhere Avery looked he saw refugees smoking anxiously, arguing, drinking tall drinks in gulps. Most wanted out of Ghenisa. They knew the country was about to be overrun by Octung and wanted to flee over the sea to safety. Some were willing to do anything to achieve it, and this was the place they went to arrange that anything. Some offered to sell themselves into indentured servitude, offered themselves as mistresses, even prostitutes, or made deals to kill, steal, ransom—and worse. Desperation and need hung on the air, thick as the smoke which clogged it. It was a natural place for underworld types to meet.
Avery and Hildra ascended a set of stairs carved out of the living stone. The lower levels of Claver’s grew out of the grotto, and in the main room a waterfall roared into a basin fifty feet below. A major-domo found their reservations under false names—Muirblaag had arranged it for them—and a waiter showed them to a table overlooking the grand waterfall.
“Damn it,” Avery said, staring over the railing toward the pounding falls. The rock they fell over glistened with moss, and the little creek bed the water channeled off from flowed between white tables below.
“What’s wrong?” Hildra said.
“The listening devices you brought—can they hear over the falls?”
She chuckled smokily. It was a strangely endearing sound. “It can hear over a fucking bomb. Made in Octung, you know.”
“Perfect.”
She lifted the menu and eyed it. The yellow candles mounted to the table cast flickering, waxy light on the menus, and on Hildra herself. She was younger than Avery had originally guessed, perhaps late twenties, and at one point she had even been pretty. The life of a rogue had left its marks, however. Various small scars showed on her face and hand. A scar twisted up from the corner of her mouth, giving her the impression of a permanent leer. There was a burn on her neck that looked like it had been caused by the mean end of a cigar, and half of her left eyebrow was missing. The rest of her was attractive, however. She was lean and athletic, her short flaxen hair swept back from a high forehead, and her nose ran straight and fine. Her white garments were supposed to costume her as Lady Nithala, one of the Star Lords.
Avery himself wore a black mask over his eyes and had dressed himself in a black cape and an outfit completely covered in black feathers. He had costumed himself as Sgavka, the Bandit Lord who could transform into a crow and fly away at a moment’s notice, which came in handy since, according to myth, he was always stealing something from the other Lords. A wig covered Avery’s head, and his glasses fitted awkwardly over his mask. He doubted Mari herself would have recognized him, let alone Sheridan.
He began scanning for the admiral as Hildra studied the menu. The waiter came, accepted their drink orders—Avery chose the house wine since he was paying—and by the time the drinks were served Avery had spotted movement below.
A woman that had to be Sheridan stalked over the lacy wrought-iron bridge and wound between white tables toward a figure who sat alone, fat and decadent, sipping something in a coffee mug.
“There,” Avery said, flicking his eyes toward Sheridan. “Just move your eyes.”
“Your first time doing this and you’re giving me advice?” said Hildra. “That’s her, uh? I’ve been followin’ her odd days and I don’t recognize her.”
“That’s her.” Sheridan moved like a tigress, same as always. She was dressed as a man, though a man wearing purple velvet. A red velvet mask covered her eyes and the upper half of her head.
“Kasven, eh?” Hildra said, arching her good eyebrow wryly. “S
he must think a lot of herself. Not just everybody can pull off the Star-Spinner.”
“I think she’s doing just fine.”
“Yeah. But who’s that she’s meeting? Fuck, don’t tell me ...”
“You recognize him?”
Hildra tried to calm herself with a sip of wine, but instead she choked on it. After coughing several times, she said, “That’s Gaescruhd. Took me a moment with the distance, but ... it’s him. Shit.”
“Gaescruhd?” Avery had heard the name, but for the moment it eluded him. “Isn’t he some underworld figure?”
“Some?” Hildra looked ill. “They don’t come much bigger than him. Hails from Ungraessot. Sells drugs, sex, even slaves.”
“In Ghenisa? You must be mistaken.”
She shook her head. “They’re around. Because of bastards like him. Lately he’s made a mint off a bunch of ships he bought. Some old fishing company, I think, goin’ belly up because of the war, couldn’t afford hot lard anymore for their processors. Well, ol’ Gaescruhd comes along, buys the ships, an’ now he’s runnin’ a refugee racket. Pity the poor fuckers that take refuge on one of his ships. Slavery’s just the start of it.”
Avery felt something twist in his gut. “Could he possibly be Sheridan’s contact?”
“He’s got no scruples. Why not let himself be hired out by Octung? Probably why his ships never go missing at sea. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took money from refugees, put them on a ship, then delivered them straight to the Octs.”
Avery nodded, sipping his wine. It was truly unpleasant. Still, it was wine. Things started to feel better, steadier, around him.
Below, Sheridan had sat herself at the table with Gaescruhd and was ordering drinks.
“You have the devices?” Avery asked.
Hildra pulled out what looked like two pairs of earmuffs from the inside of her jacket and passed him one.
“Put it on, twist the dial on the side till you hear the right table,” she said. “Just try to look casual.”
He placed his set over his ears and surreptitiously fidgeted with his earpieces while Hildra did likewise. If this had been anywhere else they might have gotten odd stares, but this was Claver’s. Conversation after conversation fluttered into Avery’s ears, and he overheard snatches of desperate pleading, stern warnings, sinister negotiations. At last, bursting through the static, came Sheridan’s familiar drawl.
“... not bad, better than last time ...”
“I told you 1340 was a poor year for the Versaigne, couplet.” Gaescruhd’s voice was throaty and self-satisfied. Avery watched the two out of the corner of his eye sip drinks near the babbling creek. Gaescruhd was a huge, corpulent man, whiskered and oozing debauchery. His hair was black, wavy, uncombed and unwashed, and it swept back from a red, sweaty forehead. His lips were full, sensual, and he constantly touched them, patting them with a napkin, licking them, smacking them. He was the only person in the entire cantina that wore no costume. Instead, he wore stained formal wear with no tie and with the shirt opened halfway down his chest. Graying, silvery curls thrust out; Avery could almost see a nipple. Still, no one corrected the man. No one said a word. Fear showed in the waiter’s stance when he came to check on the table, and when he had finished he didn’t so much leave the table as flee it.
Sheridan leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She looked quite comfortable, despite being in as precarious a situation—moreso—than anyone here. One good photo of her sitting with Gaescruhd and she might be hanged on general principles.
“Haven’t heard much from you in a while,” Gaescruhd said.
“Been busy with paperwork. The wheels are in motion for me to take land duties.”
“Interesting.”
“There’s no ships left for me to commandeer. We’re trying to buy some used ones from Looris, but till then, well. And since the invasion’s coming through the Pass any time now, all units are being rearranged. Haggarty’s pushing for the Navy to take the lead. It’s the biggest military structure in the country, it’s the one that’s expanding. Denaris is fighting it, but she won’t win. And with what I’m doing for Haggarty, soon no one will be able to stand against him.”
“Oh, I’m painfully aware. He’s not cheap, is he?”
“Anyway, it works out for our purposes. The more land-based I am, the more influence I’ll be able to wield.”
“True. And that is the point, I suppose.”
“Well, one point.” A note of pique entered her voice. “By the way, thanks for the heads up about the crustaceans.”
Gaescruhd raised his hands defensively. “It was not my decision, couplet. You know that.” A smile twisted through his whiskers. “They are cute little things, though, aren’t they?”
“Whatever idiots decided to send them should be shot. They’ve got the lab monkeys trying to reverse-engineer them.”
He sat his wine glass down. “I’m listening.”
“I have a source that says Ghenisan scientists are trying to find a way to use your pets’ anatomy to build some infernal device that could slaughter legions of our troops at a time.”
Finally. It was the first time Sheridan had admitted openly that she considered Octung her side. Avery wished these listening devices had a recording feature, but of course adding such a thing would make them too heavy and cumbersome to use.
“That is upsetting,” Gaescruhd admitted. “I’ll have to get someone to look into it.”
“Please do.” She paused. “I have an inside man that might help us, the one who gave me this information. He—ah, here’s the waiter.”
They gave their order, and Gaescruhd rattled off a list of succulent dishes, ending with, “and the lobster bisque, if you would.”
“That’s not as amusing as you think,” Sheridan said. To the waiter, she said, “I’ll have steak—the most expensive you have. My friend is paying.”
Gaescruhd grinned as the waiter all but ran from the table. “Haven’t lost your spark, I see.”
“You haven’t lost your disgusting appetites. Why should anything change?”
“Oh, I believe in gaining more disgusting appetites over time, not shedding them. I support acquisition, not loss. On that subject, something has come to my attention—something I think you’ll find most interesting.” He paused, then said with an air of significance, “We think some of the Black Sect might still be on the run.”
“You’re kidding. I thought the Council had suppressed them all.”
“Oh, those at home are in hiding or dead, certainly, but I’m talking abroad.”
“Still? I was told they’d been destroyed. You mean ...”
“Yes. He, she or they could be here in Ghenisa. We’re not sure how many of them are still alive. Possibly just one. The Collossum have detected an extradimensional signature—maybe signatures—but cannot pinpoint a location, though they’re thought to be in this general region.”
Avery frowned. They were talking about his patient, he was certain, as she was of the Black Sect. But why would a saboteur emit an extradimensional signature? As far as he knew, such phenomena were related only to the Atomic Sea and Octunggen weaponry. He listened closely.
“Interesting,” Sheridan said. “What would he, she or they look like?”
“I thought you had been to temple.”
“Once or twice. But never one with a Collossum in residence.”
“They look like what they are—gods! As close to gods as a human can look and not stand out, anyway. Tall, beautiful, often blond. They’ve been living in Octung for many years, of course, so they will either only speak Octunggen or else with an Octunggen accent.”
Avery had to force himself to put his wineglass down without spilling it.
“What is it?” Hildra said.
He gaped, unable to speak. Finally, he managed, “I don’t know. She’s one of the Black Sect, I knew that, but ... a god? One of the Collossum?” He shook his head. “Listen.”
Down below, Sheridan was st
aring at Gaescruhd.
The fat man shifted uncomfortably. “Something on your mind, couplet?”
Shit, Avery thought. She’s put it together, too, only she knows what it means.
“If this missing Black Secter were found, what would be the orders?”
Gaescruhd watched her in astonishment. “Don’t tell me. Can it be?” He laughed. “Brilliant! There could be a big bonus in this for us—for you, I mean.”
“Don’t get too excited. I can’t say for sure.” She rubbed her jaw, looking pensive. “It never occurred to me that one might just fall into my lap like this. I thought she must be some mutant, some infected woman, but ... yes, maybe, just maybe ...”
“Where is this godlike personage?”
“She’s a specimen of the scientists. In one of the sublevels.”
“Can you get to her?”
“I ... perhaps. There is a man, the one I mentioned, a doctor. I can turn him.”
“Not a ringing endorsement, couplet. That last one didn’t work out so well. What was his name, Hambry, Hampsted? Went overboard while delivering a message? I do hope your other recruits have better footing.”
She ignored him. “I can turn this doctor. He can get to her.”
Avery swallowed.
“And if he doesn’t, someone else will,” Sheridan added.
There are others. Avery remembered what she had said earlier. Even Admiral Haggarty was somehow corrupted. Avery realized he could trust no one in the Navy.
Gaescruhd frowned. Suddenly he seemed very sober, even anxious. “I must ... make a phone call. Not to home, obviously, but there is someone here in Hissig that I report to. He will know what to do about your little runaway. I have a feeling he will want your doctor friend to take out his scalpel, but I can’t give the order myself. Not regarding one of them.” Indeed, his voice sounded tense, and even through the distance Avery thought the fat man had paled somewhat.
“Wait here,” Gaescruhd said. He wiped his mouth, stood and lurched from the table.
Avery felt as though he’d been bathed in ice. Gaescruhd was about to ask permission to kill Patient X. My mermaid. Slowly, Avery turned from the scene below to Hildra. She looked worried, confused.